The Clothes Make the Man
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: From an obscure world in Mutter's Spiral came the saying "the clothes make the man." As it turned out, clothes made the woman as well.


**The Clothes Make the Man**

It was a strange feeling, being a woman.

He…no, _she_ , was going on 2000 years old, give or take half a century. In all that time, she…no, _he_ , had been from the dawn of the universe, to the end of the universe, and everywhere and everywhen in between He…yes, _he_ , had known at the time that that wasn't technically true though, that there was always something new to see, with new eyes, he…no, _she_ , could see what he had not seen.

So, back to the issue at hand. _He_ had seen a lot of things, but none of them had involved a body like this. There were… _things_ , on her chest. Bigger things than had been on his. Also no waggly thing between her legs, which meant that using the loo was going to get a lot more tedious. Because as sure as the waters of time flowed through the timy wimy ball that was space-time, the waters of the gallifreyan body (or any body really) had to flow somewhere. And while using the shower (or heck, the pool – the TARDIS still had one despite her recent temper tantrum) was just the same as usual, it also meant changing into new clothes. Which would be fine, except now she actually had to choose them. And not only just choose them, because her Type-40 TARDIS was being a tad moody and forcing her to walk back and forth from the wardrobe to the control room. She only put up with it because she knew that the old girl could do much worse.

"Well?" she asked. "How's this?"

The TARDIS didn't say anything. Not at first. She was giving her driver the silent treatment, after the Doctor had given her the silent treatment for flinging her out of the control room.

"Come on, this is the fifteenth go, give me something."

She'd since learnt that the TARDIS had become miffed as to how all of her driver's recent regenerations had involved a light show in the control room (well, almost all, Eleven had been a bit more low key), sometimes causing collateral damage in the process, and wanted to make a point. To make life difficult.

"Come on, you've seen as much of the universe as I have, you must have got some opinion."

"…"

The TARDIS was still making life difficult.

"What? What's wrong with it?"

"…"

"Yes, so I'm a girl. Why can't I wear a bow-tie?"

"…"

"I visit other planets than Earth you know, and in places beyond the twentieth and twenty-first centuries."

"…"

"Yes, I know I keep coming back to those centuries for some reason-"

"…"

"Yes, since the Time War, the twenty-first century has really seen a lot of visits from me, and all the best companions have come from that time, but what does this have to do with wearing a bow-tie?"

"…"

"Huh. That's a pretty good point."

The Doctor paused, fiddling with the tie. She felt like wearing a tie, but as the TARDIS pointed out so elegantly, that just wasn't going to cut it anymore. Maybe a scarf? An umbrella? No matter where you were in the universe, you'd always need something to keep you warm and dry. There were few things in the universe more useful than one of those things, and one of them was a sonic screwdriver.

"Alright, so let's say I ditch the bow-tie, and-"

"…"

"Jeans?!"

The other most useful thing was a towel, but the Doctor wasn't worried about that. Rather, she was worried that her beautiful baby was developing very unhelpful ideas.

"…"

"And bracers?"

"…"

"Don't laugh at me, I'm not wearing bracers."

"…?"

"Okay, so my past incarnations had…interesting, choices of attire…"

"…!"

"Yes, the patchwork was a bit much, but still, bracers?"

"…"

"Oh, what would you know, you've never had to get fitted for anything. And at the rate you're going, you won't be able to fit into anything, period."

"…?"

"Bringing up the fiolans of Gakamon Seven is a low blow and you know it." The Doctor began pacing around, images flashing in her head of her past selves. How did they do it? As in, of course she knew how they chose their wardrobe, they just walked right in, chose something, and if their companion didn't like it, tough. Why was she even bothering with what her overgrown police box thought?

"Okay, you know what?" she said, taking off the tie. "I don't need to listen to you. I'm going to walk into my wardrobe, pick something out, and I'm going to come back here, and if you don't like it, tough."

"…"

"And I'm not wearing bracers." The Doctor spun around and headed out of the control room. "And when I come back, I want a new screwdriver."

"…?"

"Purple."

"…?"

"No, those were my kidneys."

"…?"

"Yes, I've still got kidneys, I haven't changed that much."

"…?"

"Yes, well, I like purple now. So get on it."

"…!"

Not wanting to dignify such a comment with a response, The Doctor exited the control room and headed down the corridor. New body, new clothes…oh, to be a TARDIS, she thought. See the sights and sounds of the universe, only without the hassle of people trying to kill you (mostly), or of worrying what to wear. Course, she'd be getting fatter and fatter constantly, but…but…wait a minute…

"Where's the wardrobe?!"

Deep within the Time Vortex, a little blue box continued spinning through the streams of time.

It was laughing.


End file.
